an incident on the way to the sabbath

The skull is an egg, she said, rapping the rings on her fingers across my forehead, as though attempting to wake sleeping koi within an aquarium, but nothing inside called, and nothing inside came, and I pulled away, scowling at her, wanting only to go back to sleep, but as I moved my head to the side I felt that suture start to split, that crack crawl across the circumference, and the skin began to pull away, clumps of scalp and hair peeled down to the shoulders like a shawl, and as my fingers went up to feel the thing I could not turn to see I myself tapped the amniotic sac only to feel something inside tap back.